


It's Gonna Be Okay

by i_honestly_dek



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Avengers Family, Avengers Mansion, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-07-11 22:02:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7072249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_honestly_dek/pseuds/i_honestly_dek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jax was brought into the Avengers Mansion when she was just a kid. All was fine and well. She got used to her new family, her new life. Life in the Mansion was normal. Well as normal as it could be, living in a mansion filled with superheroes. </p><p>That was until someone new came along.</p><p>(What even is this summary?)</p><p>updated as of June 23 2016</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So I've never written a Bucky/OFC before. I don't exactly know where this is gonna go, or how far it's gonna go. But I'm writing it.

I’m sitting in the Avengers’ mansion lounge with some random TV show on, notebook on the table and pen in hand. I make it a habit to write. Nothing in particular. Sometimes stories, sometimes journal entries, I’ve even wrote a poem once. But I like writing, so I make time for it.

 

Today I decided on a cheesy love letter to no one in particular. I just realised that I’ve never written anything really sappy, and I figured everyone’s gotta try being like Nick Sparks at some point. No, that’s a lie. Well, not completely. I’m just…not good at emotions. Recognizing them, dealing with them, and especially explaining them. Never been good at it, which is ironic because I love writing. So yeah. Here I am…writing a love letter. Well, trying to, at least. It’s hard. All I have so far is:

 

_Dear ___,_

_I don’t know how else to say it. I miss you._

 

I can’t seem to get any farther than that. Maybe because majority of my life has been spent with these superheroes and not with lovey-dovey significant others. My life has been more action-adventure than romantic comedy. What else do romantic people say?

 

I hear the door to the rather large lounge open. I think about hiding my notebook in fear of Steve or Clint reading this letter out loud to the others, but considering I only have a single sentence, I veto the idea.

 

“This is the lounge…” I hear from the door. It’s Steve’s voice. He’s back from whatever ‘week-long’ mission he left for two weeks ago. “We just kinda hang out here when we aren’t anywhere else.” As he walks into the lounge, I see that he’s brought someone with him.

 

The guy’s almost as tall as Steve. Dark brown, shoulder-length hair, hidden under a black baseball cap. Good amount of scruff. His face is tired. Or scared. Or both. His eyes are flickering all over the room, as if he’s trying to register all the sights. He’s fit – his red Henley and brown jacket look snug on him – and he has a black backpack with the chest strap on. Cute.

 

“And over there? That’s Jax.” Steve points at me with a smile and the man’s eyes focus on me.

 

I put my pen down to wave at this guy, who Steve seems quite comfortable around. He smiles and gives a weak wave with his right hand. But that’s not what gets my attention. As he shifts to wave at me, I spot a slight shine between the glove on his left hand and his sleeve.

 

Within milliseconds, everything makes sense. Why Steve’s week-long mission took two weeks and no one went after him. Why he’s giving a tour of the mansion to this ‘man’ he seems so close with. Why this ‘man’ looks a little lost and tired, but still has enough energy to smile and wave.

 

“Jax,” he pats this guy’s shoulder, “this is…”

 

“Bucky.” I say under my breath.


	2. Does he talk?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jax and Bucky have their first encounter since he came to the Mansion. They talk... sorta.

It’s been about a week since Bucky first came to the Mansion, and I haven't even seen him walking through the halls of the place. It must feel absolutely insane. For both of them. Steve, who thought he lost his best friend, only to have to fight him so many years later, and now to have him back…ish? And for Bucky. Wow. He must be completely overwhelmed. When I have seen him, I’ve wanted to talk to him, but I don’t really know what to say. ‘Hey, nice to see Steve’s not alone?’ ‘What’s it like, with the metal arm?’

 

I’ve talked to Natasha, who’s apparently encountered him already – as in, before he came to the Mansion. She said that he’s either been in rehab or his room for the entire time he’s been here. I totally get it. If I were woken up in a different time with a single friend who I almost killed because I was brainwashed—yeah, no, I don’t get it. But I don’t blame him for not coming out much.

 

Once again I’m seated in the lounge with my writing book and pen. This time I’m having better luck in writing. Maybe because I’ve left the love letter for a later, more inspired, time. Or maybe because I have a bottle of drinkable yoghurt. I love drinkable yoghurt.

 

“Hey Jax!” Sam’s voice makes me turn from where I’m sitting on the couch.

 

“Hey Birdie. What’s up?”

 

“Tony wants you in the lab in 20 minutes. New developments with your glasses.”

 

I’m mainly just a parkour-distraction type of girl, but Tony got bored one day and started developing a pair of glasses for me. Info screen, thermal imaging, Google searching. All controlled by hand gestures made by the matching glove. It’s pretty great. Now I can be a parkour-distraction-but-also-recon type of girl.

 

“’kay. Thanks, Sam.” I smile before turning back to my book.

 

A few seconds later, Sam’s voice returns.

 

“Whatcha writin’ today? A love letter for Pietro?”

 

I roll my eyes. “Shut up, asshole.” He knows about my writing thing. Since I was taken in, Sam’s been like an older brother to me. I guess all of them are (Wanda and Nat are my older sisters), but I’ve always been closest with Steve, Sam and Natasha.

 

“So it is? Oh, I’m so gonna tell him.”

 

“No!! It’s not him.”

 

I love the guy, don’t get me wrong. But nah. Pietro’s not for me. Not anymore (I had a small thing for him a few years ago but no one knows except Nat). Sam narrows his eyes.

 

“Ha. Okay.”

 

He walks away and I turn back to my book.

 

A few seconds later, his voice returns.

 

“So who’s it for?”

 

I whip around and pretend to throw my drink at him.

 

“It’s not for anyone! And it’s not a love letter.” Not today, at least.

  
“Alright, alright.” He throws his arms up in surrender. “Yeah. Tony’s. 20.”

 

He walks away.

 

I go back to my book and pretend to write for a few seconds. But after a while I still sense Sam’s presence. He’s just…loud even when he’s silent.

 

“Sam, c’mon. It’s not a love letter!” I roll my eyes before turning around.

 

But I guess I should have turned around first.

 

Bucky is standing in the doorway, where Sam was standing earlier. He’s wearing track pants and a blue t-shirt. His expression is a mixture of confusion and shock.

 

“Oh, shit. Sorry.” I drop my head for a second to restart. This time I stand up and face him, making it a little more official. “Hi.”

 

His face relaxes a bit, but not completely. He went from a mix of confusion and shock to a mix of lost, shy and curious. He gives me a weak smile.

 

For a second, we’re just standing there. I want to make this less awkward. I want to ask him a question, but I might trigger a bad memory. Start up a conversation, but what if he doesn’t wanna talk?

 

So we’re just standing there. Until I notice he’s looking at my hand. I look down and see that I’m still holding my yoghurt.

 

“It’s drinkable yoghurt. Strawberry banana.” I point at the fridge. “Want one?”

 

He turns his head to look at the fridge before turning back to me and shakes his head slightly.

 

“Okay.” I return. Doesn’t feel like talking. Okay.

 

 After a few seconds, he turns and walks away. Just. Turns and leaves.

 

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed. I wanted to talk to him. He seems really nice. He looked lost and I just wanted to help. Did I say something wrong?

 

I continue writing for 10 minutes before I go to Tony’s lab. Well, I don’t even remember what I was writing, so it could be complete and utter shit, but in my defence, I was distracted. Talk about an awkward first impression. Honestly.

 

The ‘new developments’ that Sam told me about were just smoother hand gestures and less feedback when I use the glasses and earpiece together. Important changes, but nothing crazy exciting.

 

When I return to the lounge, Steve is sitting on the couch, reading the news on his phone. I laugh under my breath because I still remember when he would read the newspaper before Sam brought him to the 21st century.

 

Steve looks up from his phone as I take a seat on the couch across from him.

 

“Hey, Jax. Everything alright?” He locks his phone and puts in on his lap. Such a gentleman – always 100% in the conversation.

 

“No. I mean, yeah.” I smile. “Yeah. Everything’s fine.”

 

He raises an eyebrow. “You sure?”

 

Nodding, I reply, “Yeah. S’all good.”

 

He picks up his phone but my question cuts him off before he can unlock it and get back to his news.

 

“Does Bucky…talk?”

 

Steve kinda just…looks at me before putting his phone back down.

 

“Uh, yes. Yeah. Buck talks…”

 

I look at the ground and nod pointlessly.

 

“Why do you ask?”

 

I readjust my position on the couch. I consider lying. I’m such a baby. So what if he doesn’t want to talk to me? Not everyone has to like me. Why’d I even ask?  
  
“Jax?” Steve brings me back.

 

I decide to tell the truth. “I saw him for the second time today. We talked. Well, I talked.” Now Steve sits up in his seat. “I don’t know. I asked him if he wanted a drinkable yoghurt. Said no. Kinda walked away afterwards.”

 

“Wow.” He laughs. “You offered him a yoghurt?”

 

Something you have to understand about me for us to be friends: I really like my drinkable yoghurt. It’s something I’m known for among the Avengers. Jax the drinkable yoghurt loving parkour kid. The drinkables in the fridge? They’re mine. (Sam always hides them in the far back of the fridge just to piss me off.)

 

I laugh, then sigh. “I don’t know. I mean, I get if he doesn’t want to talk to me. I just, wanna make sure that I didn’t say anything wrong.”

 

Steve’s phone dings.

 

“Don’t worry, kiddo.” He gets up and puts a hand on my shoulder. “Yes, he talks. And he’ll talk to you soon enough. He’s kind of like a puppy - just gotta get used to you, then he won’t leave you alone. Maybe keep offering him yoghurt!”

 

I roll your eyes and hit his hand. He pulls away before waving his phone at me.

 

“I gotta go – Wanda called for me. You’re okay?”

 

I smile, this time much more relaxed, with Steve having reassured me.

 

“Yeah. I’m okay.”

 

“Alright.”

 

He starts to walk away, but before he leaves the room he turns around once more.

 

“Seriously, though. Don’t worry. It’s not you. He’ll talk soon enough.”

 

I give a weak smile before I’m left alone again in the lounge.


	3. Questions

A couple days later, I’ve seen him walking through the mansion, maybe getting used to the place. Considering he wouldn’t even come out of his room for the first week, that’s progress. Though, whenever I do see him, I kind of just wave, and he returns the deed. But we never talk. As much as I would love to get to know him and make him feel comfortable, I get Steve’s point. I guess I just have to wait until he’s ready.

 

Toady I’m focused on writing a journal entry. Something I haven’t written in a while (usually I do little dialogues or descriptive pieces).  I’m talking about the new glasses, that one time Sam almost flew into Steve’s shield, and of course the new addition to the family.

 

Suddenly, I hear a light thud of something landing on the table I’m sitting at. Removing my eyes from the page and looking up slightly, I see a bottle of drinkable yoghurt. I turn around and Bucky is standing beside me.

 

“Hi.” I start.

 

“Hi.” He returns.

 

For a second I’m knocked out of this universe. He spoke. To me. And he gave me a yoghurt. A smile grows on my face.

 

“Thanks for the yoghurt. Do you, uh,” I point my pen at the chair to my right, “wanna sit?”

 

He looks at the chair for a few seconds, thinking, before he replies with, “Okay.” And takes a seat.

 

I go back to my journal entry, trying to wrap it up as quickly as possible. ‘Well Bucky just talked to me. Twice. That’s pretty crazy. I’m gonna go. Bye.’ Probably the worst sign-off I’ve ever written, but this may be a rare occasion.

 

After I’m finished writing, I close my book, open the drink, and look at Bucky.

 

He’s sitting in the chair, observing at different parts of the room. The couch, the connecting kitchen, out the windows to the green field. He face appears relaxed, but his posture suggests that he’s ready to flee at any moment, and that honestly breaks my heart.

 

It takes me a few seconds to realise that I really don’t want anything more than for him to feel comfortable here.

 

I’m probably pushing my luck, but I decide to try and start a conversation with him.

 

“Hey,” I start. Bucky’s head turns to face me, as if startled for a second, before realising it was just me calling his name. “Sorry. Can I, um, ask you a question?”

 

He nods hesitantly.

 

I silently curse at myself. I shouldn’t have done this. I’m scaring him. It probably feels like an interrogation or something. I delay asking my original question and decide on something more, relaxed.

 

“Do you want one?” I raise my bottle slightly.

 

For a second or two, he just looks at me. Maybe he’s still not used to people asking him what he wants. Realising he probably won’t give me an answer, I answer for him.

 

“C’mon. We’re getting you a drinkable.”

 

I stand up and offer him my hand, but he doesn’t take it. He just…looks at it.

 

Shit. I went too far. Why did I even think about—

 

A hand holds mine and Bucky stands up from his chair. Even though my hand was closer to the metal arm, he’s holding my hand with his flesh one. My heart breaks once more, realising he did so intentionally.

 

I walk him over to the fridge, reach in, and grab him a strawberry-vanilla. After opening it, I hand it to him.

 

He takes the drink, barely whispers a ‘thank you’ and holds it for a few seconds. I just sit on the counter and drink my own, waiting. I’ve realised that there are pauses between each of his actions, probably because he’s evaluating ways to react in different situations. All I can literally do is wait for him to make decisions. I wouldn’t want to disrupt his train of thought, or scare or startle him, etc.

 

Plus, seeing him process things… he’s kind of adorable. Steve’s right – kind of like a lost puppy.

 

He eventually lifts the bottle to his lips and tilts it to take a sip. I watch his throat contracts as he swallows the drink.

 

I raise my eyebrows. “So…?”

 

He looks down at the drink and nods. “It’s good. I like it.”

 

“YES!” I do a mini-fist pump, which earns me a wide grin from Bucky.

 

Adorable. Quite adorable.

 

For a while, we stay there – me sitting on the counter and Bucky standing in front of me – drinking.

 

“Uh,” I break the silence. “What do I…what can I… call you?” I look down and pinch the bridge of my nose but continue talking. “Sorry. I mean, there’s Bucky. But then there’s James. And I don’t know which one you wanna go by…or if there’s another name…” I trail off, hoping he gets the idea. In my mind he’s Bucky, just because that’s what most people call him. But just in case he wants to try something new…

 

When I look up I see him looking at me, eyebrow raised and wearing a lopsided grin.

 

I wince. “You got what I was trying to ask, though, right?”

 

“Yeah, I did.” He takes another sip of the yoghurt. “Most people call me Bucky. I’m okay with that. But to be honest, I don’t mind James. I don’t hear it very often anymore.”

 

James. I can get used to that. If it makes him more comfortable, I’m all for it.

 

“Alright, then, James.”

 

James smiles and nods, as if to approve of the new-old name.

 

“Do you have any more questions?”

 

I can’t help but hurt at the question. I told myself not to make it an interrogation. Stupid.

 

“Sorry. I didn’t want to make it seem like I was questioning you. I know you get it all the time.” I finish my drink and throw it in the recycling from where I’m sitting.

 

He finishes his and does the same.

 

“It’s okay. Questions with you are…different. It doesn’t feel like rehab. It’s nice. A new friend.”

 

I look down at the ground because I can feel my cheeks going warm. I don’t know how else to put it but: wow – he likes talking to me.

 

When I’m sure my cheeks are flame red, I look back up at him.

 

“Sorry to disappoint, but I don’t have any questions right now.” I lie. I have so many, but I figure a) he gets the same questions all the time in rehab, and b) I don’t want to make him think I’m crazy.

 

“Can I ask you one?” His voice goes quiet again.

 

“Yeah, of course.” I reply quickly. “Anything, anytime.”

 

He points back to the table we were sitting at not 10 minutes ago.

 

“What do you write about?”

 

“Anything and everything.” I jump off the counter and bring him back to the table to show him. “Sometimes I write stories, sometimes letters, sometimes I just draw. I have a few older, filled notebooks in my room – I think I started this one a couple of months ago.” I flip through the pages of this particular book, starting from the beginning.

 

As I flip through the book, I sneak a few glances at Buc—James. He looks genuinely interested, and I can’t help but smile at his curiosity.

 

“I don’t like limiting myself to writing about one thing. So usually I finish one piece or a chapter a day. But when I’m uninspired, I just leave it for a later date. That’s why there are random page numbers and symbols – to show me if I’m continuing something old or starting something new.”

 

When I get to the more recent stuff, I stop flipping just before the unfinished love letter and journal entry. Those aren’t my best works. Nor are they the best thing to show him, considering we just started talking.

 

I close the book and look back at him.

 

“So you like writing?”

 

I let out a short laugh. “Yeah. I like writing. It’s kind of like a brain-dump. Makes it less crazy up there if I put stuff down in there.” I point at the book. “You should try it. I mean, if you want. It’s relaxing.”

 

He shrugs.

 

“Maybe.”

 

He looks at the clock on the wall.

 

“I have to go. Answer more questions, learn more things.”

 

I give him a small grin and nod and he starts to walk away.

 

“Good luck, James.” I call out.

 

He turns just before leaving the room.

 

“Thanks.” he pauses, thinking. “Thanks, Jax.”

 

And he leaves the room.

 

 

It takes me a few seconds to realize that that was the first time he said my name.


	4. Does it bother you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to |thebeastinsideusall| for giving me the adorable idea of Jax tying up Bucky's hair!

Yeah, I know it’s late (about 3am late), but I don’t have anything important tomorrow, and I’m not bothering anyone here in the gym, so leave me be. I couldn’t sleep so I’m just working the parkour gym, climbing walls, swinging from bars, etc. in the hopes of exhausting my body and finally getting some shuteye.

I’m standing at the top of the high wall I just scaled (twice my height, by the way) and catching my breath when I notice a shadow at the door. I sit down with my feet dangling over the edge and speak to said shadow.

“Hello? Who’s that?” I’d use my glasses if I had them, but Tony’s making more adjustments over the next couple of days. 

The shadow steps into the light of the gym, and I can finally identify the being as James. He’s wearing jogging pants and shoes, and a white sleeveless shirt. He stops, doubtful as to whether he should proceed forward, stay where he is, or turn around and walk away.

“Hi.” He offers with a tired smile.

“Hi.” I reply. I can tell he’s more comfortable now, which is great. I suddenly remember I’m sitting almost 12 feet up in the air. “Uh, hold on. Just, let me get down.” 

I move to drop down to ground level, but James’ voice cuts me off.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll join you.” He moves forward then stops himself again. “I mean if that’s okay.”

A smirk forms on my face.

“Eh.” I shrug. “If you think you can get up here, sure.”

He scoffs under his breath and before I know it, he’s scaling the 6 foot wall beside me and jumping from that wall to mine. I give him a slow clap as he sits beside me, barely a change in breathing pattern. Of course – he’s a superhero.

“Wow. Pretty good for a 99 year old.”

His right hand is pushing hair out of his face as he replies.

“Thank you. I think.”

I watch him as he gets comfortable on the edge beside me.

“Does it bother you?”

My question seems to catch him off guard, and to be honest, it has the same effect on me.

“Hm?”

“Your hair. It’s long. Does it ever bother you?” I point at my ponytail. “I know mine does.”

He thinks about it before shrugging. 

“Sometimes, yeah, but I don’t really think about it.” 

I get up from my spot and crawl so I’m kneeling behind him. Before he can turn around I’m pulling his hair back in a loose, low ponytail. When my hands first touch his (remarkably soft) hair, I can feel him stiffen and hear him suck in a breath. I forgot he isn’t used to talking to anyone, much less being touched by someone, but I figure it’s too late now to stop. I secure the ponytail with the extra hair tie I had on my wrist before returning to my previous spot. Turning my head to see his reaction, he’s still facing forward, but relaxed once again, and with a sweet smile on his face.

“Okay, my turn.” James breaks a silence I didn’t notice.

For a second I’m confused – my hair’s already up. But as he continues talking, I realise he means it’s his turn to ask a question. I guess this is our thing now, asking questions.

“How long have you been doing this?” He gestures at the different obstacles.

“I don’t know. I’d like to say for as long as I can remember… Just little me, climbing the couch or jumping off three stairs.” 

The silence returns.

“You can keep asking me questions, you know?” I tell him. “I asked you a lot in the first few times we talked. It’s your turn. If you want, that is.”

After a brief pause, the next question is asked.

“Does you name mean something? Jax?”

I can’t help but smile at his curiosity.

“Yeah. Well, it isn’t a different language or anything. It’s actually short for Jacqueline.” 

James turns his head to look at me in shock and a laugh escapes me.

“Haha, yup. I lived in a pretty sketchy region growing up and sometimes I’d get kind of “scared”…I guess is the best way of explaining it? My brother would always call me Jax to try and make me feel stronger.” I skip over some details. “And I guess it kinda just stuck through until now.” 

“Jacqueline.” He says my full name experimentally and I can’t lie, him saying my full name makes my cheeks blush. “Hm. Cute.”

I shift my position so I’m sitting facing him. “Okay. My turn.”

For a while, we ask each other small questions. I ask him things like ‘how’s the Mansion’ and ‘how’s the arm’, and his questions include things like ‘what’s Sam like on a good day’ and ‘what is the internet’ (both questions have me cracking up). For almost an hour we’re just learning about each other through the smallest questions, genuinely interested in every answer.

After some time, we’ve moved back to sit with our backs leaning against the far wall (away from the 12ft drop). And some time after that, my head drops onto his shoulder. To my surprise, James doesn’t mind. He even shifts to put my head higher on his shoulder, making it more comfortable for the both of us.

I just finished answering why I love drinkable yoghurt (I was absentmindedly out buying food one day – I picked it up thinking it was juice, couldn’t return it because it was a food item, and have loved it ever since) and I can’t think of another question, so I let him go again. 

“Why do you always write in the lounge? Instead of your bedroom or something?”

I don’t answer right away. Actually, I wouldn’t even think about answering this question because I know where the answer will lead. Maybe it’s the time of night, or maybe it’s the strange amount of trust I have in him, but whatever it is leads me to begin my response.

“I’ve lived here for so long, yet I still can’t get used to my room. Reminds me too much of home.” 

I could’ve stopped there. Just left that vague answer in the universe, open to interpretation. But blame it on the time or blame it on the trust, I keep going.

“Like I said – I grew up in a sketch area. We were barely supporting ourselves when my dad got fired. My brother had a job, but it was only enough to get food every day. My mom and dad were trying to get jobs, but the uh, the miscarriage kind of, knocked us all of course. Before I knew it, we owed money to some not-so-good people.”

I take a deep breath before continuing.

“One night – I was like 12 or 13 or something – I was sleeping in my room when this huge bang kind of, woke me up. There was a lot of yelling. I heard my brother yelling at some guy.” I feel the formation of tears stinging the back of my eyes, so I take out a few details once more. “Next thing I know, my parents are screaming my name and telling me to run. So I did. Just, right out the window and into darkness.” 

As much as I would like to share as much with James as he’s done for me, I can’t quite pull myself to do it yet. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” James’ voice is quiet. He looks down at my head resting on his shoulder. “Uh, you’re crying.”

I sit up and wipe a tear with the hem of my shirt. 

“I’m sorry.” He repeats.

I chuckle. “No, it’s okay. It really is. I said I owe you questions, didn’t I? And it wasn’t that bad talking to you about it, to be honest.”

I offer him a reassuring smile.

“Okay. Your turn. Ask me anything. I know you’re holding back.”

I hesitate. I can’t do that. What if something triggers him? I’m not even worried about my safety – I can just parkour right out of here. It’s just, he’s been through so much and there’s no way I can bring that up again for him.

“Jax? Are you okay?”

His questions snaps me back to reality. 

“Uh, I still don’t have any. That’s why I let you go twice.” I lie.

He sits back against the wall, looking forward.

“Well, think of one because I’m not asking another one until you do.”

There’s a silence as I’m thinking of a question to ask him. Yes, I have many questions, but I really don’t want to do anything wrong. 

“Why are you up so late?” I finally ask.

“Nightmares.” James replies after some time. 

I drop my head and silently curse at myself. I thought it’d be because he came back from a mission, or went out with Steve and Sam or something.

“I’m sorry.”

He offers me the same reassuring smile I gave him.

“It’s okay.”

It’s precisely 3 seconds before I speak – I know because I was counting this time.

“If you ever,” I clear my throat, “have nightmares, you can come and find me. I won’t ask any questions or anything. I promise. Just, if you need someone. You won’t be bothering me. It’s the least I could do…” I trail off. Where is this going?

“Where?”

Where does he find me? That’s actually a good question… I sleep in random places. I think about all the places I hang out during my free time. 

“The lounge, here, or sometimes the garden, but that one’s rare.” 

“Lounge, gym, garden.” He repeats to himself. “Okay.” 

A smile grows across my face. 

“Okay.”

***

I don’t remember how late it got and how many questions were asked before I eventually fell asleep on that platform. But when I wake up in the morning, I’m not in the gym. I’m in the lounge, on the far couch in the corner, tucked in with a blanket from my room.

Sit up and read the time – 8:00am. On the table in front of the couch I see my hair tie and a note lying underneath.

“I figured you didn’t want to sleep in the gym, but I didn’t know where to put you. Sorry.   
\-- James”


End file.
